


abundance

by nachttour



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Established Relationship, F/F, Jewelry, Offscreen Kink Negotiation, Rope Bondage, Sex Toys, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26077363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachttour/pseuds/nachttour
Summary: For a moment she looks at you, legs spread wide open, bulge squirming against your abs and spheres shuddering as you breathe. Peering down at her, you chirp, halfway on the cusp of laughing or moaning. “Like what you see?”“I think so.” She settles down on her front, dropping kisses on the inside of your knees, prompting giggles. Stretching out a hand you feel the warm pressure of her around you and you give up any pretense of patience.
Relationships: Porrim Maryam/Feferi Peixes
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12
Collections: Drone Season 2020





	abundance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thescyfychannel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/gifts).



The body. A collection of plates, chemicals, sinews and impulses. The body is a strange thing when viewed outside of the lens of the vessel of all of your desires. As you have taken to this new set of routines, that is exactly what has occurred. 

What your body can endure and what you think it should are two separate conversations that never seem to happen at the same time. 

There is a third conversation you do not wish to participate in at all, but barges in without your thoughts. Your body in the imperial sense. It is worth more than a generation’s worth of your people -- only so long as you can complete an arbitrary task ( _kill Her_ ). 

Instead of paying attention to any of that nonsense that wants to creep up and ruin your mood and your nights, you put your mind to the things that matter. Those are those that you will serve, and who will in turn serve you. 

Your date for today is the reason that auxiliatrices were cloistered three Empresses prior. She embodies everything that those that keep the future should: power, sensuality, drive. 

She also is dead! That is something that was a little strange at first, but the two of you more than make it work. Her body is shot-through with indomitable will and other mysteries! The juries are still out with regard to that and the corpse-management agreements with the caverns prevent the exhumation of rainbow-drinker remains.

None of that matters -- if you needed to you would rip her into shreds. It would be _harder_ than normal; but it would be possible. It’s wrong though! Porrim is your friend! Even more than your friend -- something special and undefinable and brilliant like a rare material stuck in the dirt and unearthed through chance.

You gave her the key to your summer-hive and the address to your transportalizer the second time you found her in one of the seaside bars, recklessly dancing under hanging lights in the midst of a throng of mostly mid-bloods. Drinks sloshed in glasses, and a couple of very brave olives shifted through the crowd, various seasonal prints flashed like the patterns of the fish near the surface. Some of your less bugfuck fellow sea dwellers mixed in with everyone, their tailoring impeccable and their glances judgmental. 

Some of them were slumming it, some of them wanted a thrill or to see something new. A few came because you did, and they wanted you to see them engaging in the same kind of behavior. 

_Look!_ They screamed with their eyes and their calculated socialization. _See I can do what you want, so give me what I want later. It’s a trade._

What you want to say, but have to hold inside of you close like a clam making a pearl is: _what are you doing, when I am not watching?_

One of the regular storms had rolled in --quick and furious in the way that they are on this coast. Lightning forked across the sky and the crashing of thunder rolled through your plates and chitinous structures like the voice of the sky came to sing a song with just your hidden places. 

The rain started in earnest and most of the bar patrons skidded under overhangs to avoid the acid bite of it. You and she were the only ones on the dance floor, and she stayed for the last few beats of the song still blasting out of the speaker-arrays before walking toward the pools of rainwater gathering on the dance floor, her hair half falling out of the artful knot she had it pulled up into, her eyes shimmering with mirth. The tiny divots and burns on her shoulders were healing even as she moved further in to avoid the rain. She shone like a star and artful tattoos arched over her shoulders and dipped down into the low back of her dress. You wanted to map out every single line of her - natural and added in the way that cartographers carefully chart coasts. 

Her skin tastes like cool rock, blood, and incense and you cannot ever, ( _ever!)_ have enough. 

You try really hard not to indulge in your entitlements -- to make it more even between yourself and the others, but you want Porrim Maryam all the time. All signs seem to point to an equal hunger on her part. 

Adjusting the itty-bitty top you chose to start the evening out with and forcing your operculum down more firmly- you never did get the habit of fluffing up like a territorial reef fish out of your system when you are excited- you sit and wait, flipping a sandal dangling from the place that the strap is settled between your toes. 

She never disappoints you -- it’s not even half of an hour that you hear the locks disengage in reaction to her touch. One of the perks of being who you are means that your security is top-notch. When you were smaller you had hoped that no such thing would be necessary. Certainly every troll would realize that you were doing the best for them, and looking out for their long term safety. Time proved that none of this was the case. It showed you a variety of truths that were difficult but useful~! Sometimes change is a small thing with slow spreading ripples, rather than a wave. 

There is a bag at her side and you wiggle just a tiny bit in your seat, thighs squeezing together and a bubbly feeling of excitement moving through your core. 

“Hello cuddlefish!” You spring to your feet, passing over the tiles and carpets to meet her in the entryway. 

Porrim simply throws her arms out to receive you, pulling you in close and leaning in to kiss you red as heretic blood. Her tongue passes your lips and you purr as the points of her fangs prick. 

“Pleasure to see you sweetheart. How have you been?” 

She asks you things between kisses, casual as if the two of you were just standing and catching up. Everything about her is physical. She sits close when the two of you are spending time together. She slides her fingers into yours when you walk the coasts. The correct time to talk and kiss is basically the same time! You kind of love it, you think.

“Good? Mmm-” You indulge your impulse to wind arms around her waist, pulling her tightly flush against you and luxuriating in the warmth of her. The slight tint to her cheeks means that she’s eaten recently - which means that she is warmer than you. It’s a treat. 

“Tell me what it is that you have planned?” Spreading your fins out nice and cute, you tilt your head in hope that she’ll tell you early. You love surprises just about as much as you like knowing what they are ahead of time. 

Porrim smirks. 

She has brought you new shinies and you! are!! _delighted!!!_

A small treasure-trove of adornment is laid out on the bed for your perusal. Pinks, greens, and a rainbow of other hues wink at you, and the recessed lighting of the room reflects off of polished surfaces like stars come to rest in the room. There are nipple-shields, rings, tassels, chains, and everything that a well dressed seadweller might choose. 

The difference in your mind is that none of it is adornment that you chose to flex your status. If you are wearing nothing but your hair or the most expensive things that you own, Porrim likes you about the same. The wealth bestowed on you means very little, so the things that she chooses to decorate you with are flush-gifts. Marks of a different type than her fangs and claws and lips leave in their wake. It’s like some of the silly crabs that slowly and deliberately put things on top of their shells -- slowly making their homes ever more elaborate and impressive. You are more than pleased to have Porrim inside of you in any context. 

Porrim slides hands around your waist, the flats of her palms skidding just under your gills to mold over the flare of your hips. Faced toward the small horde in front of you, you let your mouth fall open in a wordless hum of pleasure. 

“Tell me what you’re gonna do with all of this? Do you have a vision?” 

Your nook is starting to feel a little tight and slick. It’s the slow pressure of mounting arousal that sometimes crashes over into a wave and leaves the two of you in a knot on your floor rather than accomplishing anything else. Time has told you though, that patience is well rewarded. There are tiny crystals inlaid with lacquer on her claws and they glitter just at the bottom of your line of sight like tiny fish shooting through beams of moonlight in the water. 

“I do. Let’s execute it.” 

Part of the delight of her is the understatement that runs through her words, hiding the wealth of passion beneath. 

Biting your lip in delighted anticipation you nod, a few pieces of hair sliding out of the loose tie you have it in to flutter around your cheeks. 

“Please and thank you.” You reply, glib. 

“If the lady would please undress? Unless she requires assistance?” Porrim comes around to look at you, expression amused. 

Looking down at the swell of your spheres in the knotted top and the wrap-skirt on your hips you fix her with your best woeful look. 

“I think I might need a little help, if it’s not too much trouble? The knot on this top is tricky.” 

Porrim laughs, bright and clear like the birds calling to each other high in the sea air. 

“It does appear to be challenging. Turn around, let me help you.” 

Pulling your hair over your shoulder and off your neck so she can see what there is to be dealt with, you feel lips press against the back of your neck. You sigh, letting your eyes flutter closed so you can focus on the singular sensations of where the two of you meet. 

Your bulge is starting to clue into the fact that one of your favorite trolls is nearby and you can feel the tiny and inexorable pushes of it starting to make an appearance. You clench your core a little, giving more resistance while also sending a thrill up your back. 

Porrim sucks a slow kiss against your throat. There is the warm and slick sensation of her tongue darting over the tendons on your neck and the chill left behind when her mouth moves. One hand slides over your ribs, her fingers brush along your middle, creating an arrow of sensation pointing up as she settles a hand over one of your spheres. The point of her claws tease at your skin and she takes a nipple in-claw. The stretching material of your fabric grates against your skin and you hum, sub-vocal and pleased. 

She grins against your skin in response. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I got distracted.” She kneads her hand into the softness of your rumblesphere and uses her other hand to worry free the knot at your top. It flops down and she moves her hand to let it flutter to the floor. Your skirt comes shortly after, joining it in a pile. 

Peering over your shoulder, you catch her delighted and hungry eyes. 

“That’s more like it. Let’s actually get to work.” 

*

Constraint is something you realized you liked early. There was more than one instance as a grub that you got snagged in kelp beds, in small spaces, and once in your own hair. There was a strange thrill in trying to get away from the pressure and the feral certainty that you might never do so. 

Growing older there was a stranger and more vital hunger in you watching captives in vids and other media. In reading about kismesis tying down their partner and gloating about control. It made you wet and squirmy and hungry for someone that might do that to you. 

It is not that you wish to be helpless. It’s the struggle. It’s the possibility of danger. There is no one in this world that could truly face you if you really tried. At least that is what they raised you to think. The longer you have known your friends, the less certain you become. 

Finding the trolls that are willing to play with you now is the subject of your joy (and many, many orgasms!). It’s the best. 

The rope bag is well-loved and designed beautifully. It’s a subtle thing that could be taken for an oversized handbag and embroidered with jade accents. 

The sound of the rope sliding between her hands makes your pulse kick up. 

“If the lady would please choose a comfortable spot on the platform to kneel, I would be deeply appreciative.” Porrim’s eyes wink with pleasure at the exchange. 

She came in a sheer top, green to match her hue and lace underthings. Her spheres are cradled in a mesh top, nipple- jewelry winking half-hidden underneath the fabric. She chose a set of tiny, fitted shorts, cupping her ass the way that you would like to do yourself. There’s just enough there to tease the fact that there is more hiding underneath. You can see the slight shift of her bulge, just beginning to press against the fabric. 

There is time. You have to remember this!

Settling yourself on your knees with your arms looped comfortably behind your head, you kneel and wait for her to work. 

She never disappoints you. 

Unlike some of your playmates it’s never rough material. You are tough and you could take it even if it was, but Porrim only wants to touch you nicely. It’s because she’s nice. 

A custom blend of fine grub-silk winds over you. This is the hard part. If you flexed wrong, you could snap it. The both of you understand it. The control is her trust. She knows you will behave, that you want to be beautiful and good for her. 

You do. 

You _really_ do. 

She catches your chin and draws your face up. The weight of her regard is like a blanket of warmth throughout your body. Lubrication slides slowly down the lips of your nook to paint abstract patterns down your thighs. 

Porrim’s eyes track slowly down the line of your body to follow the movement of the liquid, and she smiles with her fangs. The tone of her lipstick just makes her teeth seem more stark against it. 

“Beautiful.” She darts up to kiss you, open-mouthed and sloppy. 

Your body shudders with effort to be still, not to topple into her and consume her. 

Rope slides up and around your spheres, whispers around your neck and abdomen. She builds a cage around you, sliding material between your legs and only glancingly brushing by your nook with her knuckles. When some of you gets on her she brings her hand up to indifferently lick it off of her skin before getting back to work. 

Chittering low in your throat you remember to stay still, to be calm. The later results are _always_ worth the anticipation. 

She hears you and brings a hand up, booping your nose lightly. “Be still. I know you can do it.” 

Dragging a finger down she slides it into your mouth. Sliding your eyes closed you welcome a little of her inside of you. You can do something for her in this, to answer all of the delight that you feel spreading through you like a tide. 

Her lips part as you slide your tongue over the pad of her finger. Inhaling, you can see the jade tint of her sliding along her cheeks and throat, like someone putting watercolor on a painting. It’s beautiful. 

She draws away from you just as suddenly as she allowed you to touch her, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. 

“You’re so good.” 

You can hear the smile in her voice and it warms you. When she says it, you know it’s true -- that everything that you are working for shows on the outside of yourself as well. A thrill follows the delight as you see her palm her bulge, squeezing just briefly before she gets to decorating in earnest. 

*

“You’re fit for the national gallery.” 

The throaty purr overlaying Porrim’s words makes your skin feel busy. Like glow-grubs are shifting and dancing under you. 

She’s turned you toward the mirror in the room and you see a different kind of troll than normal. Jade rope crosses and winds around every one of your curves, biting in and shaping. The harness she wove around you hugs every part of you, keeping you contained while framing you like a piece of art. 

Privately you think that you look better than something that is in the national gallery. A lot of it is propaganda or art by trolls who are so far up their own chute that they got lost. That is just your opinion though. You’ve always found more beauty in what is spontaneous and natural. How could you paint laughter or companionship in a way that could ever compare to the original? 

Seeing Porrim’s touch on you gives an idea of how one might begin to try. 

She draped a few beaded chains here and there, and they clatter and wink near your hips. Your nook is bordered by chains laid over each of your thighs -- like a pair of gold curtains to the stage of your arousal. 

You look like someone’s hidden treasure, kept away for personal use. It thrills you - to be decorated with such care. A few thin rings wink against your bulge where she slid them slowly down. It took everything in you not to jerk forward or fall back, to ask her to ride you hard like a tidal storm. 

Porrim stands out of reach, looking you over with a critical eye. “No tingles? No pinches?” 

You laugh at her, bright, breathless, and delighted. “You make me _feel_ tingly. It’s all bubbles and starshine in me And I certainly won’t complain if you want to pinch me. But! Nope! Nothing hurts.” 

Porrim beams. “That’s what I like to hear.” Light shines from the core of her, pulsing in time with the beats of her pusher. It’s just another way that she can touch all of you at the same time. 

Sliding her hands down almost in an afterthought, she pushes her shorts off. You track the movement of the fabric down along her thighs, returning to the lush slickness of her nook. You want to touch her. To slide into the heat of her. To put her in your mouth, or feel her rocking into you. 

There are some allowances that you will give yourself. You are not a girl with infinite patience after all! The hunger in you sometimes can be like your lusus, rising from the depths to blot out all other concerns. Fixing your eyes on her mouth, you purr at her, inviting. 

“And what now?” 

You hopefully waggle your fins at her and flutter your lashes, hoping that you present a winsome enough picture that she will decide that she wants to have her way with you. You let the luminous points of your own skin light up, answering with your own internal light. On the surface you are not nearly as luminous as she is, but it isn’t a competition. 

“Now...” Porrim slides a hand along her stomach, down slowly to stroke a forefinger along her bulge. It chases after the movement and stimulation to wind around her hand. She squeezes it and a shudder runs through her. 

“Now I am going to enjoy this treasure I’ve found.” She smirks. 

“I get the pleasure of being the only one here.” 

In the corner of your vision you see her peel off her remaining layers, the whorls and swirls of her tattoos stark against the subtle luminosity of her skin. 

A small trunk to one side of the bed creaks open and you thrill at the possibilities. One of the toys she gave you for your last hatching-day makes an appearance. Seeing it makes you shiver in response. Your nook is so slick that you think you’re going to recreate the ocean all on your own. Your bulge has done the complicated maneuvers that only the truly patient can - it’s coiled against itself and sometimes sends jolts through you at the unplanned pressure as it contracts and squeezes. The toy is a nice width, almost painful but never crossing the threshold. It moves in the same way that a partner would -- free flowing motions and flicks inside of you, reactive to pressure on it to start its sequence of motions. 

Porrim grips the rope harness behind you and pauses, catching your eye. “Do you want to be on your front or back starfish?” 

“I want to watch you. Back please.” Your hair slides down onto the platform, and your arms settle into the embrace of the cushions. Your weight is on them, but you’ve tried this before and you know when it will turn uncomfortable. Looking down along the line of your body you see Porrim framed in the angle of your bound knees. 

Mounting the platform, she slides up to you and you wiggle your toes, just to do something with all of the excitement and anticipation wound through you. The anti-chroma sheets whisper as she slides along their slick surface. 

For a moment she looks at you, legs spread wide open, bulge squirming against your abs and spheres shuddering as you breathe. Peering down at her, you chirp, halfway on the cusp of laughing or moaning. 

“Like what you see?” 

“I think so.” She settles down on her front, dropping kisses on the inside of your knees, prompting giggles. 

“Porrim.” 

You roll the sound of her name into a chirrup. It is terribly difficult to stay still and be good. 

“Your future Empress is not a demanding troll, but could you please, pretty _pretty_ _please_ touch me?” 

Watching her eyes is beautiful. Her pupils constrict in response to your call, tiny points of darkness in a field of yellow and jade. The toy slides into you, beginning its programmed motions and your hips roll like a wave, chasing the touch inside of you. She watches you like you are the singular point of light in the world. 

“How is that for you, _My Consideration?_ ” 

Some of the ropes on your shoulders creak, you can feel one start to shred. Gasping air in, pressing your shoulders into the platform and try not to shove yourself into her hands. The insides of your thighs are a slick mess. 

“Ooh! That... yes. Yes.” 

Scrunching your back and canting your hips so that your legs are as open as they are going to get, the toy to a better place inside of you. 

“That’s.. That’s good,” you sigh out. It’s the release of one pressure, and the answer of one need. She’s holding you, with the bindings, with the sound of her voice and her rapt attention. 

Porrim’s cheek brushes along the line of your leg, and she settles close. The toy inside of you rocks, and she licks her lips - squirming against the bed for the friction against her bulge. 

“So happy to serve.” 

You snort at her, trying to bop her with one of your knees. You can still close and open your legs even if you aren’t supposed to extend them. She fends off your effort with very little of her own. 

“If you’re going to be a brat I’m just going to leave you here.” 

“Noo~!” The potential injustice of that gets a playful wail out of you. “Then don’t break my rope. I had that specialty dyed.” Porrim’s voice is patient and even. 

She tickles the backs of your thighs with her claws, plants kisses along your stomach and your bulge. The bed creaks slightly as she sits up to kiss you properly, lingering over you and tangling her hands in your hair, brushing them over your spheres. She frees one hand from cradling your chest like it is a grub and slides it down between your bodies. Gently nudging your bulge out of the bizarre shape it had found she takes it in hand. Sliding it carefully between her fingers she strokes and squeezes it and that, that is just right. 

You can feel her all over you. 

Dropping your head back you purr and purr, breath hitching between kisses and sighs. If you could move, the two of you would be rolling across the floor. This is a different way to be flushed for her, a different way to show how you want her. The toy is slipped out of your nook and you whine in frustration. 

Something warmer and slicker moves in its place and all argument dies off on your lips. That is better. There are some toys that give you sensations no other living things can. But when you are like this, when you are beneath her, it is an appetizer and not the entirety of the course. You can hear the wet sound of the toy being inserted elsewhere and the soft inhalation of air sucked in through Porrim’s nose. 

_Full_. 

Every part of you is touched, held, and accounted for. Porrim’s hips push against your thighs where she lays between them, shifting her hips expertly and drawing shudders out of the pair of you. The rope makes you a cradle for her to lay in, and pushes against your skin. All of your decorations shift and click as she moves in you, and you force yourself to take her without answering with the same passion. 

You can feel the tension building up in her, the different cadence of her breathing and the subtle flex of her hips against you. Her chest is smashed against yours, her nipple jewelry dragging against your skin. A faint sheen of sweat makes her shine and look even more beautiful than she did already. Her hair started the evening pulled back into an artful tail. It has long since escaped confinement and hangs around you, enfolding you in the scent of her. 

Meeting her mouth you bite at her lip, moaning in encouragement before pulling her into a kiss. 

As she grips you tight, your pleasure starts to tip over. Your bulge pulses in her hand, curling in one last desperate twitch. The force of the release makes your muscles contract and draws a long groan out of you. You spill over her hand enthusiastically, slurry dribbling over her knuckles and palm to drip on your middle. The chains on your thighs shake as you strain into her hand, spilling everything out for her. 

She grinds down into your hips, growling against your aural. You feel kisses smudge and smear themselves along your jaw and throat as she releases into you. The rush of warmth is a dreamy counterpoint to the pressure holding every inch of you in place, and the lassitude of having all of the built up anticipation answered. 

Lingering on your chest for a few moments, the two of you breathe. You can feel the slow movements of Porrim’s lungs, and the singular slow beating of your own heart. It keeps the tempo for the both of you. Somewhere in the background the toy is set to one side. You catch the movement in the corner of your oculars and lament the fact that you can't lick the taste of her off it. At least not this time. 

“I adore you, but up please. My shoulders are starting to hurt.” 

Porrim slides free of you as easily as an athlete slides into motion. Instead of pulling you up she rolls you onto your side, wedging pillows behind you so you don’t topple backward. The pressure is relieved and you trill your thanks. Humming to herself she goes to the careful work of unwinding you. There are a few ties in the back that come off faster and free your arms. 

Uncrossing them and bringing them forward to a more neutral position, you enjoy the slow burn of blood flowing through your skin and muscles relaxing after having been held in one position too long. With one hand she reaches up, massaging your shoulder before returning back to her work. The ropes are set aside to be laundered. Sections of them are soaked through with both of your colors. It is an aesthetically unfortunate hue even while being kind of cute to consider. There is a place that the two of you are constantly together. 

All of the trappings are put aside and you are free! Somewhat achey, in the good sex kind of way. A little tired, also in the good sex kind of way. Porrim is well decorated with your slurry in a silly, translucent magenta splash over her front. This means ablutions. 

“Off to your terrifyingly cold shower.” 

“Hey.” You glub at her. “I am a creature of the crushing depths, warmth is for my subjects. I gave it all to you. I don’t need it.” 

Your knees are wobbly and you are light-hearted and Porrim quickly comes over, sliding an arm around your waist to walk with you into the facilities. It’s a transitional space for you when exiting salt-water or the beach. The shower-head comes on and Porrim shrieks even though she had braced for it. 

Turning your face up into the spray you let the combination of the two of you slide away, slipping down your body in drips and drops. She’s so good. You hope that she will keep coming back over and over and finding new ways to put her marks on you. 

She hides behind you, letting most of the spray sluice over your body. Just as you are going to gently remind her that she might want to scrub off, you feel careful fingers slide into your nook encouraging the remaining slurry to pass from you. It is a different and particular pleasure, and you intentionally squeeze yourself around her fingers. Purring and leaning back into the line of her body you let the spray hit you and delight in the fact that there is much more night ahead of you. 

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was so much fun! We wanted shibari and we wanted Fef! Hopefully this answered some of the need for this content in the world! Thank you for the wonderful options and I hope that you enjoy it. :)


End file.
